Fallout Equestria: Homelands

By Somber

Chapter 15: King’s Gambit

Somewhere there was a world where friends talked to each before they did stuff. They confided in each other and let everyone know if they were leaving or angry or about to gun down a bunch of zebras. Little things like that.

Scotch Tape really wished she lived in that world right now.

“Us? Why us? Take him!” Charity snapped, jabbing a hoof at Skylord. “He’s the one that shot them!”

“You have a point,” Baruti said as he rubbed his chin. “Fine. Take the griffon.”

“Out of my way,” Skylord ordered as he kept his guns focused on Master Baruti. “We’re leaving.”

“No. You are not,” the zebra contradicted as water dripped off the brim of his hat, gripping his cane lightly by one hoof. The rest of them were surrounded by the villagers. A few bore farming implements, but there wasn’t a gun to be seen. “We are not a free city. For better or worse, we are under the protection of the Blood Legion,” he said evenly. “We have an obligation to turn you over to them.”

“You idiot,” Skylord growled back. “You see these guns? These wings? You’re not turning me over to anyone.”

“Yes, I am. And if you should fly away, we will turn over your comrades in your place. And if you should kill any of us, we will hand over their bodies in your place,” Baruti said, his voice low, grim and joyless. “What would your commanders say about that, Iron? Or are they disposable assets?”

Scotch blinked as she realized that Skylord very well might write them off. He had his orders, but it’d been a month. Maybe he had superseding orders for situations like this? Then, as Scotch considered him, she noticed something odd: it was the iron cross brand he bore on his flank, that sick parody of a cutie mark.

It was oozing.

Maybe it was lingering effects of the tea she’d drunk, but she could see a shadowy ichor was dripping from the brand. The translucent fluid seemed to evaporate away the further it travelled. What it meant… she had no clue but she’d worked out that whatever it was, it wasn’t good. Especially since it matched the shadowy black gunk covering the bodies of the slain Blood Legion.

Skylord glanced at Scotch, then at Baruti. “I don’t have to fly off. You’re going to let them go or I’m going to double your weight in lead.”

“I am an old zebra,” Baruti wheezed as he stepped even closer to Skylord, “but I can assure you that you are not going to shoot me, or anyone else here, any time soon.”

“And how’s that?” Skylord asked, shifting his body to keep a barrel right at the old zebra. Baruti circled so that Skylord’s field of fire was the bunker rather than the crowd.

Baruti then nodded behind Skylord. “Because Hiroto is going to sit on you now.”

Skylord turned in alarm, but the huge zebra they’d encountered on the road gawped cluelessly, much too far to sit on anyone. Skylord only took his eyes off Baruti for a second.

It was enough. The zebra’s cane swept up and hooked the end of Skylord’s firing bit, and with a sharp yank, pulled it right off his beak. The guns snapped off a short burst, but the zebra had positioned himself between the two barrels. Skylord attempted to take wing so he could bring his claws to bear, but the zebra gave the hooked bit a sharp yank with both hooves on the cane, and forced him back to the ground. As Skylord sprawled there, Baruti looped the firing bit’s cable around both his claws, yanking the wire tight. A short hop and he plopped his haunches atop Skylord, pinning his wings with his legs. Skylord was left face down in the muck, his claws pulled tight up against the underside of his chin. His leonine hind legs raked in vain at the mud. Baruti swept off his wide brimmed hat and bowed to the stunned audience.

Then there came a slow clapping beside her, and Scotch glanced at Precious applauding. “What?” the dragonfilly asked. “That was a really sweet takedown.”

“Unfortunately, he said take ‘them’, not ‘him’, which means we’re next!”

“We’ve apprehended the Iron for the Blood. You five are free to go,” Baruti said evenly to the rest of them. “May your story have a happy ending.”

“Come on,” Charity said as she started for the Whiskey Express. “Let’s get while the getting’s good.”

Scotch stared at the struggling Skylord, pinned under the elderly zebra as others rushed in to help hold him down and remove his guns. He kicked and bucked, trying to gain purchase in the muck, struggling desperately to fight them off as they pulled off his harness and weapons. From his mouth spilled a constant slurry of threats and insults that did nothing to deter the zebras pinning him.

Scotch stood there, watching dumbly. What he wasn’t doing was calling for help. He’d written that off already. He expected them to go and leave him behind. He wasn’t one of them. They weren’t his people. She should just turn and go. Whatever his fate was, it was sealed the moment that he’d gone off on his own.

“Wait,” Scotch called out, to her friends as much as to the villagers.

Baruti turned to her, frowning, as she walked up. “I can’t just let you hand him over to the Blood Legion.”

“What?!” gasped her friends, almost in unison.

“Yes we can!” Charity blurted at once. “We can totally leave him. Look! This is how you do it!” She made exaggerated steps towards the Whiskey Express, lifting her knees high as she sang out, “La la la la! Leaving the stupid griffon behind.”

“Are we fighting now?” Precious asked. “I mean, I’m on it if we’re fighting, but I thought that was off the table.”

“We are not fighting!” Majina shrieked, then turned towards Scotch. “We’re not fighting them, right? We can’t fight them. Please!” she begged.

“We’re not fighting them,” Scotch assured her.

“Well now you have me curious, pony. We have no choice but to deliver an Iron to the Blood Legion. While all was peaceful, we could overlook his affiliation, but now we have no choice. It’s him, or us,” Baruti said as he climbed off a now thoroughly restrained and disarmed Skylord and approached her. “What would you have us do?”

“Take me into custody with him,” Scotch stated. Skylord, now gagged, glared at her. “Let my other friends go.”

“What?” Precious snapped. “You are not doing this, Scotch!”

“Yes, I am,” she said, rubbing her chest and fighting off the urge to cough. The damp and her run hadn’t done her lungs much good. “I’m not giving up a friend. Blackjack wouldn’t do that!”

“Blackjack would fart and kill half the village by accident,” Charity countered flatly. “I don’t think you can do that. But even if you can, this is stupid. You don’t owe that griffon anything!”

“Yes, I do. He’s our friend. He fought with us and kept us alive!” She faced Baruti. “I want you to take me into custody, but I want you to send a message that you’ve captured me with him.”

“The Blood Legion already knows about him. Why would they care about you?” Baruti asked, nodding at the lone Blood Legion survivor, a colt barely older than Scotch who looked ready to soil himself. From his Zencori stripes, it wasn’t hard to imagine he’d been conscripted from this very village. No wonder Baruti and the others were so upset with Skylord.

“Because someone in the Blood Legion wants me,” Scotch answered. “I want you to get a message to Colonel Haimon of the Blood Legion that you have the pony Scotch Tape in your custody and that she knows what his brother told him the night that he died.” Scotch glanced over at her friends. All stared at her, aghast, save Pythia, who refused to look her way. “My friends can keep going. They don’t need me.”

“You idiot!” snapped Precious. “You’re the whole reason I’m here!”

“Well, now you can keep Majina safe!” she shot back. “I don’t want another Rice River on my hooves. The four of you can find the Eye, or go home, or do whatever. You don’t need me for that.” Pythia still wasn’t looking at her. “And this way, I take all this New Empire, Haimon, Riptide heat off of the rest of you. I might even get some answers.”

“Sure. Right before Haimon cuts your throat and throws you into a pool,” Charity quipped. “This is stupid. Just let the turkey get stuffed and we can get out of here.”

“I,” Majina stammered, then glanced at Skylord, swallowed, and looked back at her. “I don’t want you to stay.”

Skylord, his face full of muck, his feathers bent from the wrestling, just glowered at Scotch as if she were being an idiot too.

“Pythia?” Scotch asked.

The star marked filly didn’t reply for several seconds. “You have a bad habit of finding those one in a million futures and diving right in.” She gave Scotch a sad smile. “Take care. See you later.” And then she started walking towards the Whiskey Express.

“You’re an idiot and you’re going to end up just like Blackjack. Dead. Horribly, horribly dead!” Charity declared. “Well I’m not feeling guilty for it this time. This is all on you, got it?” She reared, turning on a hoof, and marched to the tractor. She paused and whirled, shouting back at her, “Idiot!” Then marched through the mud without another word.

Majina said nothing, but Scotch suspected she was crying. “You could stay here, Happy Tale,” Master Baruti offered.

She stiffened and said in a low, barely audible voice, “No. I couldn’t.” Then she started back towards the tractor too, her head hanging low.

“Scotch, if you’re staying then I’m staying too,” Precious insisted. “I’m not going to let that stupid turkey get you killed.”

“If you stay, how long do you think Majina’s going to last? Take care of her,” Scotch said with a strained smile. Pythia and Charity too.

“Charity’s right. He’s not worth it,” Precious said, snorting a little bit of flame in his direction. “He did the stupid. You’re doing a stupid. Two stupids don’t equal a smart.”

“You never know. Maybe, once we’re away from the village, we might escape. Who knows, we might meet up with you in Roam?” But she doubted that. Even if she did get free, the zebralands were so impossibly big than the chances of finding her friends again were infinitesimal. “Take care, Precious.”

Precious hesitated for several seconds, then slowly backed away. Finally, she turned and walked back towards the tractor. Scotch swallowed, feeling a pit opening up inside her. If this worked… She rubbed her chest, starting to wheeze as the Whiskey Express and her friends pockety-pocked away from the village.

“You’re a moron. A complete and utter moron,” Skylord muttered from his side of the basement they’d been dumped in. It was filled with old costumes and stage equipment, and from the dust on everything, hadn’t been used for a while. One light bulb provided feeble illumination that was barely enough to read by.

“I’m trying to save your life,” Scotch Tape said as she read the book Taliba had given her. Some of the glyphs were elusive, but the bright pictures helped a little.

“An extra reason you’re a moron.” Skylord sat on a crate, slumping against the wall, caked in mud from beak to tail. His rusty feathers were bent at odd angles, and she doubted he could fly in this state. “Did it occur to you that your friends are right and I’m not worth this?”

“You seem worth it to me,” Scotch said as she nudged a page over. “You’re brave and loyal. You could have ditched us a day out of Rice River. Shot us and taken our stuff. Instead, you stuck with us.”

“Adolpha would pluck me if I abandoned an assignment,” Skylord sniffed, crossing his forelegs over his chest and glaring at the wall. “She’d pluck me if she saw me now. Just jumping in on an attack without proper target assessment… rookie mistake.”

“You’re not much older than me,” Scotch reminded him.

“Still stupid.” He covered his face with a talon. “I couldn’t help it. Soon as I heard the war was on, I felt… I had to do something! My legion’s fighting for their lives and I’m just roaming around here with you. I know Adolpha ordered me, but they were just dicking around with Rice River. Not a war.”

“What’s the difference? Aren’t you always at war with the Blood Legion?” Scotch asked with a frown.

“No. We have our territory, they have theirs. We have our resources, they have theirs. Sure, we scrap all the time, but a war is different. A war is trying to break another legion. Irontown is everything to us. Our foundries are there. Our ironworks. Everything.”

“Your slaves,” Scotch felt obligated to point out.

“Indentured workers,” he shot back. “Anyway, without Irontown, we’d lose everything. The other tribes would pick us off while we’re crippled. It’s happened before. The Star Legion used to be a nightmare with balefire bombs. Four wars later, and you’d be hard pressed to find one of their legionnaires anywhere. They might even be extinct, for all I know.”

“So a war is attempting to destroy another legion? Are these things common?”

“Not as much as they used to be,” Skylord said with a frown. “Legions used to be parts of the Imperial Army. After both of you blew the snot out of each other, they had to put their own country back together again. Except they couldn’t agree on who should be in charge.”

“I thought zebra tribes elected their Caesar,” Scotch said with a frown.

“They did, but the Caesar said that the greatest and most loyal of his generals was to be his successor,” Skylord explained with a roll of his eyes. “You can guess what happened.”

“They all thought they were the greatest and most loyal, didn’t they?” Scotch guessed.

“Yep. And any time the tribes stuck their noses into it, the legions came down hard. First they were all, ‘it’s for your own good,’ but over time they just stopped caring. The legions had the power, and might makes right. They carved out territory and settled into things. With a few exceptions, the zebralands have pretty much been chewed up by the legions. If everyone just agreed the Irons were the best, this mess would have been over a long time ago.” He grit his teeth and slammed his fist into the wall beside him. “What’s your game?”

“Game?” she frowned.

“Game. Plan. Scheme. Whatever. You!” he blurted. “I don’t get you! I don’t get this!” He waved a talon at the basement full of junk. “Why in Grover’s glorious gashole would you stick your head in my noose? I’m not your friend! I’m not even friendly!”

Scotch closed her book and rose to her hooves, walking across the basement to face him. He shrank back from her as she moved her face towards his, before stating as firmly as she could, “Because whether or not you think you’re my friend, I’m yours.”

He stared at her a moment. “I don’t know if you’re stupid or crazy.”

“Why not both?” she offered.

“So, are you planning for us to escape out of here once they’re all asleep or something?” Skylord asked.

“No, because then the Blood Legion will kill the village for letting you escape. We have to escape from Blood Legion custody for the village to be in the clear,” she said.

“The village?” he gasped, his beak twisting in a sickly smile. “Screw the village! These are just a bunch of crazy zebras that like to pretend they’re heroes and shit, putting on stupid plays and telling stor–ow! Ow! Ow!” He squawked as she smacked him repeatedly with a hoof, bashing clods of mud from his plumage and face with each strike.

“We are not screwing the village! I don’t care if they’re strange. I’m glad they’re strange!” She stopped smacking him, huffing, “They’re more interesting than most of the other people I’ve run into! So we aren’t putting them in the Blood Legion’s crosshairs just because you decided to go shoot up their people! We’re going to escape from the legion, not the village.”

“Escape? You realize that once the legion sends people here, I’m dead in five minutes or so.” He took a breath before continuing, punctuating his words with jabs of a claw as he said, ”And you’re raped and dead inside thirty.”

“Maybe,” she admitted. “That’s why I told them to get a message to Haimon. This ‘New Empire’ wants me.”

“They want you dead, you numbskull!” Skylord snapped. “Riptide was pretty clear about that, as I recall!”

“She wants me dead, but I’m guessing that these people aren’t all on the same page. If there’s a chance of taking me alive, I’m betting they will,” she said with a frown.

“You’re betting?” he gasped.

“Yup.” She sat back. “And I’m hoping that I can get them to spare you too when they come for me.”

“Hoping?” he spat, as if choking. “You’re betting and hoping that… all of this will save my life, even though I’m the one that caused this?”

“Pretty much,” Scotch answered, earning a death glare from the griffon. “What? Least you could do is be is grateful.”

“Grateful!” he shouted. “Did it occur to you that I don’t want your help? That I’m fine with the Blood Legion killing me? We’re at war! Dying for my legion- ow! Ow! Ow!” he snapped as she started whacking him again with her hoof. “Quit it!” he said, seizing her hoof in a talon.

“No! Your life is important to me! Just like the villagers’ lives are important! And if I can help, I will, because that’s who I am! That’s what Daddy would want me to be!” To be fair, her father would have probably shoved a grenade up Skylord’s butt a while ago, but he probably wouldn’t pull the pin. Probably. She drew back.

“Ponies and your idiotic hero complexes,” he growled. “Well do what you want. The legion’s going to blow my head off when they come. If you have any brains at all, you’ll run the second you can. You don’t want to live and see what the Blood Legion does to anything with a vagina.” And he curled up on the box, facing the wall.

“What is taking them so long?” Skylord shouted three days later. Aside from a bucket, the Zencori villagers had offered them little but silence, reading materials, and an acknowledgement that the Blood Legion would be collecting them soon. Three times Baruti had tried to talk Scotch into fleeing. Three times she’d declined, even with Skylord calling her an idiot.

“Well, either they’ve got things to do, or my message to Haimon got through and he’s coming to kill me personally,” she replied as she focused on her breathing, sitting cross-legged, a red feathered domino mask liberated from a crate resting on her face. Right now she was trying to shift her perception into the spirit world; something that had been happening unbidden ever since she’d gotten to the zebralands. Her studies weren’t exactly meeting with stellar success, but if nothing else, the breathing exercises calmed her nerves and churning stomach.

This was the right thing to do, right?

Yes, it was. She wouldn’t write off Skylord any more than she’d write off Majina or Pythia, or even Charity. Skylord had stuck with them, even when they’d gone into dangerous territory. And yeah, he’d screwed up big time flying off and attacking without even talking about it, but what would Blackjack do? Give him another chance.

She heard the cards shuffling in her ear. “I am not Blackjack,” she grumbled. A dry chuckle was the only response.

“You’re talking to yourself again,” Skylord muttered from his box.

“I’m trying to get this shaman stuff to work,” she said, taking another breath. Funny how just deep breathing make her chest burn all on its own. She gave a little cough and rubbed her sternum. “It’s hard doing this when I’m not nearly blown up and the spirits aren’t going crazy.” She opened her eyes and saw flickers of gold and creeping shadows, but as soon as her eyes tried to focus on them, they disappeared. “Ugggh,” she groaned, pushing the mask up and rubbing her eyes. “I’m getting a headache.”

“You’re going to have a lot worse than that pretty soon,” Skylord assured her, but there was less edge to his normally sharp response. She glanced over at him facing the wall, head bowed. “I don’t get you. You don’t have a contract with me. You don’t owe me anything. I don’t owe you anything. Why the hell would you stick by me? I’m just another griffon.”

“I just do,” she said, closing her eyes, pulling the mask down and taking another breath as she started to center herself again. “I think you’re a better person than you realize.” She didn’t get a response. Instead, she heard a very ungriffony sniff. She peeked at him, but couldn’t see his face.

“You’re the second person who’s ever told me that,” he muttered, thickly. Then he furiously scrubbed his face and muttered, “Stupid dust. It’s making my eyes water.”

“Let me guess. Was the first Adolpha?”

“Yeah,” he said, glanced at her over the shoulder and met her eye. He immediately averted his gaze, stiffening for a second, then slumped again. Turning back to face her, he breathed deep. “Griffons aren’t any more different to zebras than we are to ponies. We’re thugs working for the highest bidder. We’re loyal to our contract and we’re useful in a fight. We’re tough and fearless, and we beat any softness or weakness out of our fledglings before they leave the rookery. That’s who we are.”

Scotch didn’t interrupt as he glanced at her, dropped his gaze, glanced back again, and gave her a tiny half smile. “I was soft,” he muttered, then looked away. “Didn’t mean to be. Didn’t want to be. But I was. That made me a liability to the rest of my talon. Anyway, if you don’t toughen up, eventually you’ll be sent out on a mission, and you won’t come back. They had a bunch of us that they kept trying to harden. Tempering, they called it. Harder and harder missions.”

He let out a long sigh. “One day, me and five others were sent out on a mission. Caravan shake down. Pretty standard stuff. We were out to prove ourselves. Show we were tough. An elder was with us to make sure we didn’t fuck up too bad. Wasn’t hard. Swoop in from the sun. Overwhelm resistance immediately and absolutely. Get the goods. Leave. We followed each step but the last.” He shook his head, snorting. “Everything went stupid.”

“What happened?”

“We were pumped up. The guards had rolled over, but they were pissed. Mouthing off. It’s what you do when you’re beaten but don’t have the brains to shut up. We had our cut of the caravan’s supplies and cash. It was time to go home. Only, one of us was pissed at this one guard. Decided to make an example of her. That got the other guards riled up. So another one of us does. And then those two started in on the rest of us. Why weren’t we joining in? What was wrong with us, just standing there watching?” He gritted his teeth with a little tch. “It was stupid. Unnecessary. It wasn’t what we were ordered to do.”

“Did you–” Scotch started to ask, then clasped her hooves over her muzzle. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“Did I rape my prisoners too? No. And that was it. That was proof of my weakness. Nevermind that it wasn’t our fucking orders. Nevermind that the pair that started it got chewed out by the talon commander. Soon as they were out of her office, it was all smiles and winks and stories. And I was the weak one for maintaining an ounce of fucking decen- discipline.” He took a deep breath and let it out again, slowly. “Anyway. It got to me. I was weak. Everyone else in my squad knew it. So I was fair game too. They were either going to toughen me up, or they were going to kill me trying.”

Scotch didn’t know what to say. What could you say to that?

“Anyway, they got me. Broke me. I left our rookery before they killed me. Not like the commander would have cared if they did. I was a liability.” He gave a tiny shrug. “I got it in my head to find those guards from that caravan. Stupid, stupid idea. It’d been months. I had no clue who they were or where they were, or if they were even alive. Got lucky. Found out they were operating out of Irontown.” He paused. “I think I was hoping they’d kill me. You know? I hadn’t joined in on it but…” He shook his head. “Anyway, Adolpha found out. I think the caravan guards were more confused more than angry. They were pissed at the raid more than the rape. She told me the same thing you did: that I was better than I thought I was.”

“You are,” Scotch whispered.

“No, I’m not,” he said and tapped his chest. “You people say it, but I don’t feel it in here. I know that I’m not as strong as I need to be. Look at what happened as soon as I heard about the war. I didn’t suck it up and keep my head. I flew off and opened fire, just like those idiots back at my rookery. I abandoned the mission Adolpha gave me to keep you safe.” He hit the wall behind him with a fist. “Two years in the Iron legion, and I’m no better than a fledge. I might as well never have left the rookery.”

“I think you’re better.”

Skylord gave another tiny half smile. “I think you’re an idiot.” He looked away from her, the smile gone. “But thanks. I guess.” She moved towards him and he raised a finger to block her. “You hug me and I am going to smack you.”

She lasted all of three seconds before darting in and hugging him anyway, getting a well-deserved, if half-hearted punch across her withers so she didn’t keep it up for long. Still, she knew what it was like to have a bad day that changed everything. She could divide her life up according to family. First there’d been Mom’s death. Duct Tape, as everyone else called her, always seemed to be rushing all over the stable trying to fix a never-ending succession of breakdowns. She was mom in little more than name, and she knew it. Mom hadn’t been an important mare. Smart, according to Rivets, her boss, but had her head up a waste recycler. She’d always told Scotch Tape that one day they’d be a real family. That she’d be a proper mother and she’d have a father and even siblings. She’d no idea what any of that meant then. She did now: people who loved her.

Then there’d been that time when she’d been all alone. Blackjack had wiped out her home, and just like that she’d been severed from everything she knew, thrust out into a wasteland that made little sense to her. Being swept along in Blackjack’s wake had been a distraction from the wretched pit of loneliness she’d found herself in. She hadn’t really had friends in 99. There’d been a grand total of four fillies in the C shift class, but when 99 had been wiped out, she’d lost everything. Sometimes the loneliness was so bad it hurt. Blackjack’s terrifying adventures had kept her from thinking about it.

And then, just like that, she had a father. Apparently she had a father twice, with the first revelation wiped from her memory, which gave her a sense of deja vu when the damaged stallion finally accepted her. So awkward, strange, and wonderful to have someone new in her life that actually cared about her. It was a second chance to prove how smart and mature she was. To make her parent proud.

Then, he was gone. A few hours later, so was Blackjack.

And she was the only one left. It didn’t matter that she’d gone to the moon. Didn’t matter what star spirits she’d chatted with. Didn’t matter that the whole world had been saved by Blackjack blowing up a monster with a piece of the moon holding the very star spirit she’d communed with. She was alone. Like Majina. Like Pythia. Like Precious and even Charity. She used to wake up screaming, those weeks and months after, then having no purpose once ponies stopped listening to her suggestions. But then, out of the blue, Pythia had found that letter and everything changed.

“Did you have a family?” she asked, pulling away and scrubbing the tears from her eyes.

“Family? That’s a hooved thing,” he snorted. “I had my talon. We don’t do family so much. I knew who my mother was, but she didn’t raise me. I had a half dozen fathers and a dozen or so mothers. So did every other fledge. When I hatched–”

“Wait. Hatched?” Scotch blinked and looked at him in bafflement. “You… lay eggs?”

“Yeah,” he said, a little defensively. “I mean, girls do. They get pregnant and swell up for a month or two then lay a great big egg. Not too happy about it either. I’m glad I never will,” he muttered with a shiver. When Scotch gestured for him to continue, he rolled his eyes. “A few months later we have to kick and punch our way out of the shell. If a griffon’s too weak to hatch, better they’re not born at all. If you have a dozen eggs in the hatchery, it’s pretty easy to forget who laid who and who screwed who, so we’re all raised by everyone. No griffon likes it, but what can you do? The oldest become grandpa-this or grandma-that, because odds are they’re probably someone’s grand-parent.”

Almost the opposite of 99 then. Had she wanted to, she could have gone to medical and traced her family back to whichever mare had first entered the stable on her mother’s side. It’d never mattered to her before, though.

We’re all trying to find a place in the world.

A loud bang overhead drew her eyes to the ceiling. Loud voices started to speak, muffled by the stone overhead. Skylord immediately rolled off his crate and onto his legs, his eyes glaring up. “Tell me there’s a plan. Something more than ‘escape before they kill us’. Because once they come through that door, they set the plan.”

“We talk. We go without anyone getting killed. We hope Pythia and the others stuck around to help us get away once we’re free.”

“Hope? We hope?” he growled. “Pythia’s long gone. That kooky filly’s only interested in stars, maps, and doing what she wants. Why didn’t you tell her to stick around?”

“Because if there’s no future where we get out of this alive, there’s no point to it. And if I told her, then Baruti might have heard and been looking for them. If there is a future where they save us, she’ll do it.” Scotch swallowed as she heard footsteps on the stairs. “She’s our friend. She won’t abandon us.”

“You are such an idiot,” Skylord muttered as the door crept open, the griffon’s body tensing. The second the door was opened, he crouched low. “Come and–!”

But before he could leave the ground, there was a flash of dark blue and an immense griffon leapt the width of the basement and pounced on Skylord. His… her body was midnight blue plumage with a black, panther like posterior and brilliant blue eyes. Ebony claws sank into his throat and wing as she pinned him against the floor. “Come and what?” she asked, claws drawing blood. “Come. And. What?” she repeated slowly.

“Easy, Gunnel,” said a male voice from the doorway. A second griffon stood there with his eyes on Scotch Tape and a talon resting on his large holstered revolver. “Contract’s to take him in alive, not rip him to pieces. You rob the Bloods of their fun and we won’t get our bonuses.” He was more white with dark green plumage, a hooked beak, and a tawny hind end. “Females, am I right?”

“Uhh,” Scotch swallowed. “Did Haimon send you?”

“Who?” The male griffon blinked, and Scotch’s stomach plunged.

“He’s a commander for the Blood Legion,” she said weakly. She’d been so sure that she was right. “He wants us both alive.”

“Dunno. I was told to fetch some morons that attacked Bloods. They’re short clawed at the moment with the war and all, but they pay well enough,” the griffon said calmly. “Now, you make this easy for us, we make it easy for you. You cross us…” he trailed off, staring at her a second before he gave a little, slow shake of his head.

“Cross us. Please do.” Gunnel, the female, hissed at Skylord. When he didn’t respond, she spat, “We’re wasting time with this fledge. We should just kill him and say he was a moron who tried to escape.” She turned to Scotch, eyes narrowing. “Both of them.”

“She says this Haimon wants her alive. Bonuses, Gunny. Bonuses,” the male griffon said. “My name’s Gunther, by the way.” He trotted to Scotch and put a bomb collar around her throat. “Five hundred meter range, pony. You go too far, you go boom, got it?” She nodded. He finally turned to look at Skylord and then frowned. “Hey, fledge, which rook are you from?”

“Eat… shit…” Skylord wheezed. He grunted in agony as Gunnel pressed her claws in deeper.

“Answer him,” Gunnel growled, “before I feed you your own guts.”

But Gunther moved in next to him, grabbed a handful of feathers, and pulled hard. The downy base was bright pink. “Oh no. It can’t be,” Gunther murred with a grin. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Not… yet….” Skylord wheezed.

“I can fix that,” Gunnel growled.

“Gunny, Gunny, Gunny,” Gunther repeated as he showed the bright pink tufts. “Look at the color. He’s dyed his feathers.” He leaned in, leering at Skylord. “It’s Gaylord. Gwen’s fledge.”

“Skylord!” Skylord shouted as loud as he could with eight griffon talons in his hide.

The griffoness blinked a moment and then leered at him. “No way. No fucking way that little pink punk is still alive!” She pulled back, staring at him, and then broke into raucous laughter. “Oh, first egg, I can’t believe it! Gaylord the pink fucking griffon!”

Both of them were laughing now. “Okay. Changed my mind. Kill me right the fuck now,” Skylord muttered as he slumped.

“Oh fuck that. I’ll gut a zebra and say they’re the ones that shot up the Bloods. You’re Gaylord Galeforce. I’m gonna do so much worse to you than give you to the Bloods,” Gunther laughed as he pulled out some cuffs and wing binders and started to lock up Skylord. “I’m taking you back home.”

This was an unexpected turn, and Scotch found herself swept along with it. Gunther had made it clear to Gay-Skylord that if he ran off or died, Scotch would too. The Zencori said nothing as they departed, but Taliba and Hiroto gave her a parting wave behind the backs of the griffons. The weather overhead was rolling storm clouds spitting rain as the wind funneled them into the high, narrow valleys.

Gunnel led the way, letting out an endless slew of slurs punctuated with complaints at everything from the weather to the trail to the brush to the lack of things to kill. Gunther followed behind, occasionally quipping back, but generally letting his partner ramble. Every time Scotch Tape glanced back, Skylord’s eyes met hers. She’d gotten them out of the frying pan, but now what to do about the fire?

“So, your mother’s a big deal?” Scotch asked tentatively.

“Not talking about it,” Skylord muttered back.

“What, ashamed?” Gunnel asked, snickering. “Don’t you luuuuuuurve your mama?”

Skylord didn’t answer.

“Gwen was a premier shock trooper in our talon. Number two in all of Bloodstone Ridge. Could’ve been number one,” Gunther said with a snort. “But one day she’s got a contract to wipe out this settlement. Took it solo. Coulda pulled it off. Instead she comes back with a story about how the settlement was abandoned. Then she got strange. Sneaking out. Volunteering for recon. As if we’d waste a shock trooper on recon.”

Scotch glanced at Skylord, but he kept his eyes straight ahead.

“Kept it up for a few months,” Gunther continued, relentlessly. “Found out she was slipping back to the survivors of the settlement she didn’t wipe out. She’d found some stray male griff to screw. A real lunatic. Talking about love and peace and tolerance bullshit. Had pink feathers. Our leader found out, and boy was she pissed. Told Gwen to finish the contract, and bring their heads as proof this time. Instead, she ran off with him.” Gunther paused, and glanced over at Skylord. “But she left something behind, didn’t she, Gaylord? Momma laid an egg, and didn’t get it out of the hatchery in time, did she? Or maybe she did take an egg, and somewhere she’s out there loving and gushing over a real griffon’s fledge.” He paused, giving time for that to sink in, before continuing, “Lo and behold, three months later, what hatches but the pinkest damn fledge you ever saw.”

“A pink punk, just like his father. Weak, just like momma,” Gunnel snickered.

“We tried to toughen him up. We really tried,” Gunther said with a sigh, “but when the sickness is in the bone you just can’t beat it out. And believe me, we tried.”

“But some fledges just won’t toughen up.” Gunnel glanced back. “Oh, look, Gunther! He’s crying!” Scotch glanced over at tears glistening on his eyes. He clenched his fists and didn’t respond, his battered body trembling.

“Don’t worry though, Gaylord. Once we’re back home, we’ll find a nice punk ass boy like you to take care of you. Oh, wait. You joined a legion. And, you’re fucking out here all alone with this pony cunt. Guess you were a fucking embarrassment to the Irons too–”

With a roar, Skylord whirled and launched himself at Gunther, but the larger green griffon was ready and grabbed his wrists, halting Skylord’s slash. His head rammed forward, slamming against Skylord’s brow with a resounding crack. Skylord reeled as Gunnel watched Scotch with malice.

She moved anyway. “Stop! Leave him alone,” she cried out as she shifted down to position herself between Skylord and Gunther.

Gunther shoved Skylord away. “I’m sorry,” he said smoothly as Skylord collapsed in a groaning heap. “Let me guess, you’re his friend?”

“You’re damned right I am.”

Gunther sighed, shaking his head slowly. “Of course you are,” he said, looking down at Skylord. “Sad. Really sad. You need a pony to save you from a beating.”

“If you’re just going to beat him to death, why march him all the way?” Scotch asked.

“Kill him?” Gunther blinked as if in bafflement before grinning. “Pony, we’re not going to kill him. He’s from our rook. We’re going to toughen him up and make a real griffon out of him.”

“I think him ripping your throat out would be pretty good proof he’s ready to be a real griffon for once.” Gunnel snickered and added with a smack of her black tail tuft across Skylord’s face, “Not that I think he’ll do it.”

“Once the rook’s blood is polluted, there’s nothing to do but beat it out, or beat it down,” Gunther stated matter-of-factly. “It’s in the bone. Now get moving or we’ll get dragging.”

Scotch watched as Skylord marched on, the chains on his wings clinking, body quivering with rage… or was it sorrow. It was like being back in 99 with the security mare Daisy. Scotch had only crossed her once… a completely accidental discharge of a waste recycling pump… but it’d earned her a beating that put her in medical for three days. The crime: being stupid. The punishment: being beaten senseless.

For the rest of the day they marched west, and while her earth pony legs could keep up with the distance, her lungs couldn’t. Eventually she collapsed, coughing and hacking, as she struggled to breathe. For a moment, she was certain that Gunnel and Gunther were going to turn her into lunch, but Skylord just lifted her on to his back and continued on.

It started to get dark. They’d reached a cluster of ruins situated on a crossroads. The mountains to the north were split by a narrow canyon, while far off to the south across the widening valley she could see a matching gap. If she remembered correctly, they had to be north of the Old Road. That southern gap was the way to the Western Empty, where her friends would have gone. North was Slaughterhouse, the Blood Legion headquarters. She really didn’t want to see it.

The pair marched them into a building that looked like it’d been an old market, putting them into the refrigerator in the back. There were a few emaciated zebras that scattered into the trees at the sight of them. In the center of the crossroads rose a flagpole with a saturated, tattered Blood Legion flag slapping wetly in the breeze. Its length was studded with spikes upon which rotten flesh and brown bones still dangled.

Skylord carried her into the walk-in freezer and set her down. “Thanks,” she murmured as Gunnel and Gunther argued over setting watches outside the open door.

“You’re fat,” he gasped back. “You’re not allowed to be that heavy in the wasteland.” Aside from a few plastic crates, there was little to serve as cover or a weapon. The stench rising from the corner suggested they were far from the first captives the fridge had held.

“Sorry,” Scotch wheezed. “How far to your rookery?”

“Weeks. They’ll kill you if you slow us down again,” he said, staring at the open door. “You shouldn’t have stayed with me.”

“Shut up,” Scotch muttered. “So first thing’s first. I need to disarm these collars.”

Skylord frowned at her, glanced at the door, and asked in a low voice, “Can you do that?”

“Daddy taught me about how explosives work.” Years ago, she silently amended. “I should be able to. If I mess up… well, like you said, they plan on killing me anyway.” She glared at the manacles clamped around her hooves. “But to do that, we’re going to need to get these off too.”

“I thought you were hoping spooky girl was going to come for us,” Skylord pointed out.

“And I am, but I’m not going to sit on my tail waiting. I didn’t think we’d run into griffons that had a beef with you,” she said as she scanned the interior of the fridge.

“Me either. Just rotten luck,” he muttered.

“Maybe. The Blood Legion would have killed you right away. Haimon might have killed me right away. Instead, we get two griffons that want to keep you alive, and me to keep you in line. That’s pretty lucky right there.”

“Your pony optimism makes me want to gag,” he muttered, his eyes locked on the door. “I’m not going back,” he muttered. “I’d rather they kill me than go back.”

“Relax, Sky,” Scotch said, giving his back a pat. It made him start. “First, restraints. Then collars. Then we get out of here.” The sooner the better. The reek wasn’t helping her lungs one bit. She needed her lungwort tea, but that didn’t stop her from eyeing the mess of the freezer. “I need something straight and stiff.”

Skylord twisted his head, seized a large brown feather, and pulled hard. He grunted and extracted a pinion, the tip bloody. Scotch winced, but gestured. “Cut off that bloody bit at the end. It has to be stiff.” Skylord clipped the end with his beak and handed it to her.

“Don’t you need a bobby pin or some junk?” he asked.

She smirked. “First trick Daddy taught me,” she said, reaching under her tail to extract the bobby pins hidden inside her blue tail. The restraints were easy enough, and kept well oiled. Clearly Gunnel and Gunther were professionals. She closed her eyes and worked on feel, using the bobby pin wedged between hoof and frog to feel out the stuck tumblers and nudge them in. His pinion twisted in her mouth, the shaft bending as it torqued the lock. She was lucky it was a simple lock. The ones on the collars… well, one hurdle at a time.

Fifteen minutes later she had her restraints off. Gunnel walked to the freezer door, but her complaining gave Scotch enough warning to slip her hooves through the unlocked cuffs and adopt a miserable look. The blue griffoness snorted and walked back out of sight. Scotch then undid Skylord’s wing restraints and cuffs.

Easy part down. “I’m going to need your help,” she said as she examined the collars. They were twelve pieces of U shaped metal joined together by rubber gaskets that provided an almost solid seal. Not having their saddlebags was going to make this even harder. “I need something to cut with.”

Skylord silently raised one hand, finger extended, talon ready. She guided it to the rubber seal and carefully lacerated it. Sure enough, there were metal connectors and wires underneath. Rule of explosives: assume anything might explode. She needed to find the radio receiver. She closed her eyes and rapped a hoof against one section, listening closely. On the fourth, the section sounded different. Hollow.

Two claw cuts and she was able to pry open the housing. The soft end of the pinion, pressed hard, worked to unscrew the cover and expose the wires inside. Spark battery. Radio receiver. Trigger. She could remove the battery, but the trigger might have a backup built in to detonate if the voltage dropped. She needed to short circuit the connection from the trigger to the detonator. Luckily there were only a few wires making that connection, daisy chaining the other explosives together. If she was right, she could scrape off the insulation, press them together, and cut.

If she was wrong, Skylord would lose his head. She’d probably die soon after.

She retreated to the corner while that hit her, her hooves starting to shake. She couldn’t do this! This was insane. She’d been idiotic trying to save everyone. You couldn’t save everyone! You just couldn’t!

She heard the cards shuffling in her ear. That dry, amused chuckle.

“You okay?” Skylord asked as she bumped her brow against the wall.

Pull yourself together, she admonished herself. Think of Daddy. Think of all the wiring you did in 99. Of the work you’ve done for Xarius in his shop. She could do this. It was a device, just like any other she’d fixed or modified. It would just be really bad if she screwed up. So don’t!

“Yeah. I’m good,” she lied, taking a deep breath and returning to him. “I need your talon again,” she said, holding out her hoof. He offered it, and she guided it to the wires she’d identified. “Now, don’t twitch.” And started to scrape. The plastic coating flaked off easily; it was old and dried out, but that left a strand of copper thinner than his pinion. Twice she had to stop, breathe, and return. Outside, the griffons were arguing with someone, but she had no idea who and didn’t dare stop long enough to find out. Once the collar was defused, she could hide what she did, but till then.

“Okay,” she said as she positioned his fingers. “Pinch.” He did. Nothing exploded. “Okay…” Oh Goddesses please don’t blow her up! She flexed the exposed copper wires back and forth and then with a soft ‘Ting’, they snapped.

One moment.

Two.

Three.

“Guess you did it,” Skylord said.

“One way to be sure,” Scotch said, grabbing the wire connected to the battery and pulling hard. There was a whine and a beep, confirming a backup battery. She spotted it on the back of the circuit card and used his pinion to wiggle it free.

No beeps. The collar was dead.

“Now I need you to do the same thing to my collar,” she said, but Skylord’s eyes widened in alarm.

“I don’t have a clue what you did!” he blurted, then glanced at the door. The griffons talking outside went quiet, and they immediately resumed their positions. Gunnel poked her head around the corner, bright blue eyes darting from one to the other. “What are you talking about?”

They shared a look. “Just wondering when you’re going to feed us,” Skylord asked sourly.

“I dunno. When are you hungry enough to eat her? We ain’t got any pony food,” Gunnel snickered. “Now keep it down. You got a long walk ahead of you, pinkie.”

When Gunnel had walked away, Scotch glanced at Skylord. “You know, I don’t want to be racist, but she makes it really hard.”

“Told you. Griffons are jerks,” he answered. “What are we going to do about your collar? There’s no way I can do what you just did.”

“Sure you can,” she said. “I’ll walk you through it. It’ll be even easier for you,” she said, forcing a smile.

“I’m telling you I can’t,” he hissed. “And I don’t want to be the one that kills you after the shit you’ve done for me.” He looked at the door. “I can jump them. Get the key and the detonator before they trigger it.”

“Or we can get you out of here and you can find Pythia and the others and help,” she countered.

“You seriously think they’re out there, somewhere?”

“If they’re not, then it’s up to you,” she said as she looked around the freezer. It wasn’t that different from the ones in 99’s cafeteria, which meant the air had to go somewhere. She spotted the vent near the ceiling. It was pretty rusted, but she guessed it led out the back of the building. “There.” She pointed at it.

“There’s no way we’re going to get that open without them hearing us,” he muttered. “You got a pony trick or something to close and lock that door?”

With that much rust, she doubted she could close it completely, let alone lock it. “Maybe not a pony trick…” Was there a shamany thing she could do? A spirit thing? Her eyes scanned the freezer, trying to think–what kind spirits might be found here?

Cold? She doubted this cooler had been cool for a century. Filth spirits from all the decay. Most of them wouldn’t be very good help either way. Then her eyes landed on the opened restraints.

Well, it was better than being fed to her friend.

First she needed a mask. Shamans doing their magicy stuff needed a mask. At least, the book said so. She found an old chip bag and hooked it over her ears once she’d had Skylord pick a pair of eyeholes in it. “You look ridiculous,” Skylord muttered.

“Unless you want to play shaman, hush,” she reprimanded. She picked up the restraints in her hooves, concentrated on breathing, and gazed at them, trying to shift her perception over. A locking spirit. A restraint spirit.

As she stared, she saw it. A flicker. A twitch. Then from the lock emerged a black, oily blob. It formed a pseudopod and twisted to peer up at her. For a moment, all she could do was marvel at it. Then it quivered and spoke in a voice like the clicking of a lock, “You picked me,” it snipped.

“Um. I did,” she answered, keeping her voice low. The oily mass was growing a little the longer she focused upon it. “Sorry?”

“You’re not supposed to pick me. I’m only supposed to open for my key,” the black spirit muttered like a combination lock spinning. “I’m a bad lock.”

“No, no, no. You’re a good lock. I just needed to be free so I could take care of my friend’s bomb collar.” The pseudopod drooped like a withering daisy. “No no no. I need your help. I need you to close something for me and keep it closed.”

“She picks me… uses me… worst lock ever…” the spirit muttered. “Trash shaman. I’m worth trash…”

“Are you going crosseyed?” Skylord asked as he peered at her.

She glanced at him in annoyance, and then blinked. “Skylord needs you to lock that door for us.”

The pseudopod straightened and became defined, looking more like a knotted up length of chain. “Oh? And what will he do for me?”

Scotch balked. “Um,” she stared at him and then at the spirit. “Um… he… um…” She glanced at the chains she’d picked. “He’ll wear chains and… stuff?”

“I’ll what?” he blinked. “No I’m not. I’m not wearing any chains.” He repeated with a squawk in alarm, “I’m not!”

“Hush. I’m negotiating,” she answered, waving a hoof dismissively at him as she kept her eyes on the spirit.

“For how long?” the spirit asked.

“How long will he wear them?” she repeated, glancing at the staring griffon. “Um… for a week?”

“A week?” Skylord asked back, flatly.

“A week,” the spirit echoed in the same tone.

“Well, how long do you want him to wear them?”

“Why am I wearing them at all?” Skylord repeated.

“Negotiating!” she hissed, staring at the spirit, which had now become a serpentine chain that hovered in the air before her.

“Forever,” the spirit said.

“Um… no. Not forever,” she thought to the book. This was essentially an offering, a show of respect for the spirit. “How about… till he falls in love?”

“What?” Skylord hissed through his teeth. “Are you crazy?”

“Negotiating!” she hissed back, then glanced at the open door. Gunnel and Gunther were still talking aloud. “He’ll wear those restraints till he falls in love.”

“Too easy,” the chain clinked and clicked.

“And!” she added, glancing at him. “And… and they have to love him back. Might be years. Might be forever. Might be next week.”

“Why me? Why not you?” Skylord objected.

“Because I’m the shaman. I make deals. I can’t benefit from them,” Scotch said, echoing a rule from the book that seemed rife with exceptions she didn’t quite understand. “You put on the chains, the spirit will close the door and keep them out.”

“Keep you in as well,” the spirit jingled.

“Just the door,” Scotch warned it. Last thing she needed was it ‘locking’ the vent too.

“Just the door,” it said with a resigned sigh.

“This is dumb. This is a horrible idea. This is insane,” Skylord muttered, then sighed, “But this is my fault too… fine.” He put on the restraints again, locking the steel cuffs around his wrists and ankles.

“Agreed,” the black blob said, and it lashed out, coiling around his body like a snake.

“Not too tight,” Scotch warned! “The agreement was to lock him, not restrain him!” She heard loud voices coming from the front of the market.

The spirit let out an angry clattering, and the chains on his body seemed to add links on their own. A second pair of cuffs locked at his knee and elbows. Then another around his neck, torso, and wing base. Gunther appeared in the doorway, his eyes wide. “What the hell–” he started to say.

The spirit extended a chain, curled around the handle of the refrigerator door, and slammed it shut with a squeal of metal and a cloud of dirt. Then the oily black chain zigzagged back and forth across the opening. Finally, the spirit clicked, “Closed. Locked. Secure.”

Scotch coughed, trying to cover her mouth with her leg as the griffons outside started to beat on it.

“Get these off me,” Skylord demanded. “I look ridiculous!” he said as he tugged at the chains and cuffs.”

“That’s the price for the spirit’s help,” Scotch told him. “Get them off, and I’m pretty sure they get let in. They’ll come off once you fall in love.”

“Fall in love? Fall in love?!” he repeated. “I’m never falling in love! Have you met me?” he demanded.

“Look, everyone falls in love sooner or later. Just make it sooner,” she answered as she moved to the back to the vent. A thin flow of cool air suggested the compressor was missing.

“I– You– They–” he sputtered and blurted. “You are an idiotic pony!”

“And you’re wasting time,” she countered. Now get over here and get this vent off!”

He stalked over and she played stool to help him reach the vent. He latched his claws and pulled hard. The metal screws sheared off, and he collapsed to the floor with the vent in his talons. “Can you get out?” she asked as he rose, rubbing his head and making the chains jangle.

“I think so,” he muttered and she stooled for him again, lifting him so he could wiggle his clinking frame through the half meter wide gap. He poked his head back through the hole. “What about you? They’re going to kill you!”

“Maybe,” she admitted. “So get out there and find our friends.”

“You’re something else,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll be back.” And his head disappeared out of the hole again.

She took a deep breath and looked at the door. At least she’d done the right thing. Blackjack would have done it. Then she groaned and muttered, “I’m not Blackjack. I’m not Blackjack.” Then she looked at the oily black chains. “You can open now.”

“I’m closed, per our agreement,” the spirit clinked. “You made no agreement for me to open at your command.”

“Open this door!” Gunther demanded.

“I can’t!” Scotch replied.

“Open it or I’m gonna blow your noggins off!”

“I said I can’t, even if you blow my head off!” she answered.

“One!” bellowed Gunther.

“What part of the word ‘can’t’ don’t you get?”

“Two!”

“I said I can’t. The door’s locked,” she protested. “Don’t you have the key?”

“Three!”

She clenched her eye shut, but no decapitating explosion came. “Um…” she blinked and then rapped on the door. “Are you counting to three or to five?”

No answer.

She pressed her ear to the door, and heard mutterings outside. People were talking.

“Scotch Tape?” a smooth male voice asked loudly.

She paused, pursing her lips. “Maybe?”

“Please open the door, Miss Tape,” the voice asked.

“I said I can’t. It’s locked!”

There was no reply, and that made her more nervous. Then there was the roar of a motor, a squeal of metal, and after a few seconds, a shower of sparks as a saw blade started to cut through the metal. As soon as it passed, the metal melted back together again.

“I am closed,” the spirit clinked.

“What are you doing!” the stallion demanded through the steel door.

She yanked the chips bag mask off her face. “Nothing!” The black chains instantly disappeared from her sight. “It’s… a magic door?” she offered.

“Let me blow her up. Give me the button!” hissed a mare’s voice that sent shivers down Scotch’s spine. “We can end this with the push of a button!”

“No! Aren’t you curious at all? Don’t you want to understand?”

“I don’t care! I want her to die. Die die die die!”

“Enough,” the stallion stated bluntly. Then silence. “Miss pony, please remain near the door a moment. Let’s see if this works.”

“Let’s see if what works?” she asked. No answer. “Hello?”

A minute later the rear of the refrigerator exploded inward, showering her with dust and debris, as the front of a tractor rammed right through the wall. A moment later it drew back. Scotch coughed, waving her hoof to try and scatter the dust. An equine shape appeared in the dust. “Who?” Scotch started to say.

Then the zebra launched herself at Scotch, slamming two bandage-wrapped hooves into her chest and smashing her head against the door, which continued to remain firmly opposed to opening. “You!” the mare screamed at her. “I’ll kill you!”

Scotch had no idea who her assailant could be, but she kicked out hard with her hooves, slamming all four into the mare’s chest. She staggered back, and then tripped over some rubble. Instantly she screamed again as she fell. For a moment, Scotch thought she’d impaled herself on some rebar when her body instantly started to bleed as if stabbed. She hauled herself up onto her bandaged hooves. “Are you okay?” Scotch asked, not knowing what else to say to such a horrible sight.

The mare stood there, swaying as blood dripped from her fresh wounds. “Okay?” she muttered, and then chuckled. “You ask me if I’m okay?” she said as she started to approach, limping on bloody hooves, her bandages squelching. “You turned my daughter into a fish!” she screamed at Scotch.

“Riptide?” Scotch muttered in shock. “But we’re nowhere near the ocean!”

“You think I’d let a little something like a curse or censure keep me from this? Oh no,” the mare muttered. “The second Haimon found out about you, I was coming along. I’m going to take you back and feed your soul to my little filly. No! I’m going to let my crew rut you first! No! I’ll let Niuhi eat half of you, then let my crew rut you, then finish you off myself, and THEN let her eat your soul!”

Scotch blinked and hooked a hoof in the collar around her neck. “I can just blow my head off right now if it’d be less trouble.”

“No,” said a stallion from the breach. “No, don’t do that.” Haimon stepped slowly into the freezer, his broad Roamani bands a contrast to Riptide’s wavy Atoli stripes. His mane was trimmed in a neat military cut compared to her deranged, wild mane. His eyes lingered on Riptide and her censured hooves and he gave a little half smile. “Yet. Riptide, would you please get off her and get bandaged? You’re bleeding again.”

“I’m fine,” she spat as she glared at Scotch. “And what are you doing being so nice to her. She’s the enemy, remember? The one who’s going to ruin everything? The one who’s done nothing but ruin everything!”

“Yes,” he replied in that smooth purr. “And I find that fascinating,” he said as he walked closer. “Now, go and get a healing potion before you bleed out.”

Riptide grit her teeth before she turned and limped out. Every step left bloody hoofprints in her wake. Haimon watched her go. “Bloody idiot insisted on coming the moment she heard we had you. I think she’s a trifle upset with the whole escaping her and turning her daughter into a fish.”

“I didn’t mean to,” she said defensively.

That made him emit a short laugh, “That makes it all the more impressive. You disrupt by accident more effectively than others do by design. It really is annoying. We spent three years trying to arrange everything with Carnico. The Blood Legion would take Rice River. The company would quietly come to serve us. We’d starve Irontown, and with both assets under our control, the Blood Legion would systematically eliminate all other opposition. And one pony screwed it all up without even being aware of it. You.”

“And then you take over the Blood Legion and you control the wasteland. Just like you promised your little brother, Andre,” Scotch said evenly.

The smug smile disappeared, his eyes wide as they stared at her. “What?”

“Right before you slit his throat, remember? The last one you killed?” Perhaps having a bomb collar around her neck was making her reckless, but she was so tired of being terrified. “It must be hard when you spend hours butchering everyone you know. Including your wife and daughter.” She stared right at him. “I saw you do it. I felt you do it.”

He backed away from her to the mouth of the hole, not taking his eyes off her. She’d hurt him. She could see it in his eyes. Maybe even scared him. It was immensely satisfying, even if it was probably going to get her killed. “I also know that Andre still believes in you.”

“You don’t know anything. You can’t know that,” he muttered, stepping out of the hole. “Wait there. I need… I need to see to my idiotic companion.”

Scotch grabbed the edge of the vent and scrabbled up. Outside, two Blood Legionnaires in clean, new armor with clean new guns and shiny new weapons stared up at her. “Hi.”

“We allowed to kill it?” one stallion asked the other.

“Orders are not to, yet.”.

The first groaned. “Get back inside. Please.”

Scotch slumped as she gazed past them out into the ruins of the small town. It was late, and she couldn’t see very far. With the collar, she couldn’t get very far either.

“You know what,” she huffed, wiggling her way out the hole, “I’m not going to wait here. It stinks in here.” The pair looked at each other, and then moved forward to catch her as she fell out. “Thanks,” she said reflexively. “I’m not going to run. I’m just not staying in there.”

The pair looked at each other. “You’re playing a dangerous game, pony,” said the first.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said. “You know what? You guys are the ones playing the game. Look at you. You’re dressed up, pretending to be Blood Legion. Let me guess, you heal those brands with potions soon as you’re back on base or whatever. Or are they just makeup?” The pair stared at her, as if uncertain how to react to a mouthy prisoner. “All I came here to do was to help my friend find something. That’s the only reason I’ve done anything. You guys are the ones that came after me. You people are the ones doing this. Not me.”

“I quite agree,” said a smooth mare’s voice, with a sophisticated accent that reminded Scotch of the Society ponies back in the Hoof. From around the corner stepped a well-groomed zebra mare in a professional black business suit. Her mane was styled as if she’d just stepped out of a salon. “Our harassment of you has been quite a phenomenal waste of resources. Had you been permitted to simply go, you’d have landed in Rice River and proceeded on your quest to find the Eye of the World.” Her rich purple eyes gleamed bright as she looked down at her.

“Oh, look. Another mysterious stranger,” Scotch muttered wearily.

“Ma’am. You should remain in the transport. You’ll blow our cover,” one of the stallions said sharply.

“Oh pish. The Bloods are focused on their silly war, and you can handle mundane threats,” she said with a wave of her hoof. “My name is Xara. And I’d like to be your friend.”

“My friend,” Scotch echoed skeptically. “Funny, given that just about every major player in the zebralands seems to want me dead.”

“We were told you were a threat. How does one deal with threats? Riptide seeks them out and destroys them. Haimon maneuvers and strategizes. Me? I prefer to turn threats into assets. Friends,” Xara purred. “When I heard you’d been captured, I knew this was my best chance to intervene.”

“Intervene, how?” Scotch asked.

“To make you an asset to us. Haimon is right, you are disruptive, Scotch Tape. I’d like you to disrupt for our side. Or if not, to help you fulfill your goals so we’re not tripping over each other. You’re trying to get to the Eye of the World. Imagine how much faster you’d get there with a flying transport. Or if you want to go back home? I could make that happen. Or simply put you up in a life of comfort and luxury. It would be far less an expense than chasing you down and killing you,” Xara said in that even, calm voice of reason.

“What about Riptide?” Scotch asked as thunder rolled up and down the valley.

“What about her?” Xara sniffed. “She’s an attack dog. She’ll expend her value far sooner than later. She’s practically killing herself being here. She might not even make it back to the sea. Haimon is a strategist. He’ll see the value in keeping you rather than killing you. And as for our shaman, well…” she sniffed again and gave a shrug. “I personally don’t see the use in her.”

“And your leader?” Scotch asked. “Or are you the boss?”

That got a little titter out of her. “Oh no. We’d be done if I were. No. But he is practical. I’m sure I could convince him to spare you. If, of course, you agreed to stop interfering with us,” she added.

“…waste of time. Should just kill her–” came Riptide’s voice as she stepped around the corner and spotted the four of them. “What are you doing?” she snapped, pointing not at Scotch, but at Xara. “What the hell do you think you’re playing at? You’re supposed to stay on the transport!”

“And you were supposed to stay on your boat. I guess we’re not too good at doing as we’re told,” Xara countered coolly. The clouds overhead rumbled and growled with the threat of another storm.

“You,” Riptide hissed, glaring at Scotch. “We’re going to kill you. The second Haimon pulls his head out of his ass, you’re dead. You’re so dead.”

“Is Niuhi okay?” Scotch asked, and she got a little satisfaction in seeing her enemy shocked for the second time in as many minutes. “Did I get her in the water in time?”

“Don’t you say her name! You made her into that! You–”

“I didn’t do anything to her!” Scotch retorted. “She was trying to eat me. She ate spirits and they changed her. I begged her to stop!” Scotch yelled back at the mare. “You started this, not me. You could have left the Abalone alone. You could have left me alone! Instead you nearly blew me up and killed everyone.” Riptide looked murderous, but that wasn’t new. “So I want to know, is Niuhi going to be okay?”

Riptide’s eye twitched. “No. She’s spirit possessed. At least that’s what the shaman said. So she’s stuck a fish tank till… till she gets better.” Riptide grit her teeth as she trembled. “And killing you will be a start!” She lunged again, and one of the stallions moved to intercept her.

Riptide’s forelegs went around his neck and she rammed her mouth underneath his jaw. Almost faster than Scotch could follow, she bit and twisted hard. The stallion’s throat exploded in blood as she severed an artery. Riptide glared right at Scotch and spat a wad of bloody throat at her. The remaining legionnaire lifted his rifle and trained it at her. If it weren’t for this stupid collar, she could have run right then!

“Shit!” the other legionnaire shouted, pulling some kind of packet of gauze and pressing it to his wound. The thick packet seemed to absorb the spurting blood and seal to the gaping hole in his neck. Then he took a syringe of purple healing potion, injected him in the neck, and focused on keeping him alive.

“Enough,” Xara said coldly, pulling up her sleeve and tapping something that looked remarkably like a PipBuck. There was a high-pitched drone and two flying, pod-like robots swooped down from over the roof, training the barrels of their weapons on Riptide.

“One day, you’re not going to have your toys,” Riptide panted.

Another faux-legionnaire walked up and told them to join Haimon. A part of Scotch was glad to see she was right. This New Empire wasn’t a monolithic organization, but like a stable with various different opinions on how things should be done. Riptide obviously wanted to kill her. Xara wanted to use her. Haimon… she wasn’t sure.

Outside the market was a strange flying machine she’d never seen before. It seemed rather like a Raptor without the clouds, but smaller, shorter, and rounder. It possessed a number of propellers that she guessed lifted it like Xara’s little gun bots. Without gems for talismans, she guessed it was little surprise zebras would have non-magical means for flight. Like the rest of their equipment, it appeared suspiciously clean. Not a dent or patch of rust to be seen.

Next to it were a pair of the strange, steamless tractors she’d seen earlier. Haimon was talking on a radio as Gunnel and Gunther stood nearby, the pair looking nervously at the squad that surrounded them. All the bluster was gone. Gunther clutched the detonator between his claws like his life depended on it. After all, it probably did.

The zebra looked as if he’d aged a year in the last ten minutes, his eyes tired as he looked sourly at Scotch, talking into a headset. “Yes, sir. Yes. I’m sure Xara will like that. No. No. Are you certain? She might be useful. Right. Very well.” He set down the headset. “The pony dies.” With cosmic timing, the skies overhead let out a fork of lightning and a boom of thunder.

“Yes! Do it now!” Riptide crowed, turning to Scotch. “I’ll do it now!”

“Wait!” Xara cried out, the drones interposing themselves between Riptide and Scotch. “Think about this, Haimon. This pony could be the solution to all our problems.”

“She’s cursed, Xara. She dies. Shaman’s call,” Haimon said, gazing at Scotch with a million questions in his eyes.

“Shaman’s call! What has that shaman done but tangle up our efforts to restore civilization with dire pronunciations and spooky warnings! If we are cursed, that shaman is the cause.”

“All the events they predicted have come to pass, and we’ve corroborated their findings with two other shamans. You may not like their methods but they’ve confirmed the threat,” Haimon said sharply.

Scotch dearly would have loved details, but Xara gestured to Scotch. “If this pony is willing to work with us, I say use her and let her disrupt our enemies!”

“Uh,” Gunther muttered, raising a single digit.

“You can’t control her! She didn’t even follow directions to stay in the freezer,” Riptide hissed. “She’s like me. A rogue wave doing whatever she wants, and damn the flotsam that winds up in her wake!”

“Excuse me,” Gunther said a little louder as the thunder approached.

“If she’s thwarted our plans thus far it’s only because we forced her! We should use this pony, or simply pen her up. Every time we’ve tried to kill her, it’s blown up in our faces!”

“You’re blowing up in our face!” Riptide snapped back. “Think! You’re rocking the damned boat at the very moment we can kill her and end her and be done with her! The prophecy–”

“That prophecy isn’t worth a tenth of the trouble it’s caused!”

“Question,” Gunther said as he waved his talon over his head while Gunnel stared at him in bafflement.

“Our orders are clear, Xara,” Haimon said with calm menace. “We neutralize the pony.”

“That means kill,” Riptide snapped, thunder booming.

“That means neutralize! She’s an asset,” Xara countered.

“She’s chum!”

“It-doesn’t-matter-we-have-our-orders-what-is-wrong-with-you-damned-mares!” Haimon shouted out over the pair of them as forked lightning flashed across the valley.

“Excuse me!” Gunther yelled, lowering himself towards the ground with Gunnel. Scotch, unsure, mimicked their motion.

“What?” all three yelled at the pair of griffons in unison as they threw themselves flat.

The skies answered, striking the metal transport with blinding, brilliant bolts of lightning, followed by thunder that washed out everything but a squealing tinnitus in her ears. Everyone, even Riptide, hit the ground as the skies decided that would be the moment to unload a deluge of water. When Scotch’s wits returned, she started running towards the griffons as quick as her hooves could carry her. They raced towards the trees. A second round of lightning struck the trees, raining down flaming debris and wood shrapnel.

She had to get that detonator. If Gunther got too far away… wait, did she hear the collar give a warning beep? It sounded so far away and distorted, almost like it was underwater, but the pair of griffons were at the tree line. Once they were gone…

Yellow bars appeared in her E.F.S. A small winged shape launched itself right at Gunther, tackling him and raking talons along his belly as the pair rolled in the muck.

Gunnel shrieked and moved to help, but as she pounced a massive equine shape lurched out of the woods and didn’t leap so much as belly flop onto the griffoness. Gradually, Scotch’s hearing returned as she scrambled to get the detonator from Gunther’s grip. Skylord continued to claw the larger griffon in a fury. Gunther seized Skylord’s neck in a grip that threatened to crush his throat, or rip it out completely.

Then a scaled equine appeared out of the storm and chomped down on Gunther’s wrist. The griffon dropped the detonator to try and free himself from her jaws.

Her friends. Her friends were here.

With Precious’s help, the pair wrestled Gunther on to his back, clawing and biting the larger mature griffon. He drew his revolver, the heavy caliber gun blasting once, twice, thrice, narrowly missing her friends as they tried to keep him firing into the air.

The Whiskey Express pulled into the crossroads as the legionnaires were rallying from the lightning strike. Majina was at the wheel, keeping the tractor off the mud as she turned it around. Charity and Pythia rushed to Scotch’s side, grabbing her and levitating the detonator out of the muck.

“You came,” Scotch said weakly. The rain, running, and lightning made her chest feel like she was trying to breathe the mud she was being dragged through. “I knew you’d come.”

“Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot!” Charity repeated as she lugged Scotch towards the Whiskey Express’s trailer. “That’s it. I’m imposing a five percent idiot tax on you from here on out! You’re going to get us all killed!”

“Charge her later! We need to get going!” Pythia shouted.

It hurts.

Scotch blinked, looking around for that deep rumbling voice. She stared up at the clouds overhead as light flickered in the heavens. “Uhhhh…”

“You three! Stop messing around with those two and let’s get going!” Pythia snapped at her friends wrestling in the mud. Skylord had gotten the gun from Gunther, but the griffon was thrashing too much for a clean shot. Hiroto fought to keep the griffoness’s claws from his body as she raked him with all four limbs, but he ignored the wounds. “Come on, lets go!”

It hurts, Tanit.

Scotch shrank back as the heaven rumbled and the ground shook from the thunder. The rain hissed like vipers all around her as it pummelled the concrete roads. Pythia paused and stared at her. “What. What is–”

The skies overhead let out a boom that echoed from horizon to horizon. It hurts! It hurts! screamed the thunder as the clouds overhead opened like a great and terrible eye. Friend and foe alike paused to stare up at that horrible void filled with crackling light. Like heavenly womb giving birth, the storm spilled forth an equine form.

A judgement from the skies themselves, Ixion struck and blew the transport to pieces, flinging flaming wreckage across the field. It hurts! the horse of lightning screamed, streamers of super-charged plasma roiling off its luminescent white body. Blue eyes flashed as the giant horse reared, forks of lightning blasting from its nostrils at the soldiers that surrounded it.

The griffons fled.

The legionnaires fired.

Bullets struck the lambent equine with all the effectiveness of flicking lead into an arc welder. Ixion jumped, crackling hooves striking the collection of soldiers with a thunderous detonation that sent lightning racing across the sky. It hurts so much! Why does it hurt, Tanit! Why? Scotch gaped at it as the megaspell monster charged Haimon, the zebra running for his life to dive behind the ruined transport. Tanit! Tanit! Where are you?

“I’ve got the detonator!” Precious shouted. “Let’s go! Now!”

The huge Hiroto lumbered to his feet. “Go! I’ll get home from here.” He yelled over the crackling lightning. His hide was lacerated from Gunnel’s claws, but otherwise he seemed all right.

“You did you the name proud,” Majina called out, earning a wide grin from the stallion.

Then he was shot.

While most of the legionnaires were firing upon or fleeing from Ixion, some remembered their orders to kill her. She spotted Riptide directing a trio of legionnaires to fire at the Whiskey Express and her friends. Majina ducked down to avoid being hit. All they’d need to do was breach the boiler and they would be going nowhere fast.

Hiroto, bleeding from the round in his back, wheeled on the legionnaires. More rifle fire bit into his massive body, but he didn’t fall. Instead, he started to run straight at them. Great big fans of mud sprayed up from around his feet as he bellowed at the top of his lungs, “Sunnnnnn derrrrreeed Hoooooof!” and crashed right into them like a muddy Zencori wrecking ball. He didn’t so much strike them as simply run right through them. Taking the window of opportunity, Majina got the Whiskey Express rolling south.

Hiroto rose, standing over the crumpled legionnaires with a delirious grin on his face, ignoring the wounds punched in his massive frame.

Then the top of his head exploded. His grin never faltered as he eyes closed and he collapsed like a toppled mountain, crashing into the mud.

“No...” Majina murmured in horror, then screamed, “No!”

As he collapsed, Riptide emerged behind him, holding one of the legionnaire’s rifles. She trained it on Scotch next. Skylord took aim and fired three rounds, making her bloody body duck back. His hand rapidly clicked the revolver and he glowered at the empty weapon. “Dammit! I need like ten times the bullets!”

“I’ll sell them to you later! Go go go!” Charity shouted as they piled in.

Riptide fired, but not at any of them. Instead, the Whiskey Express let out a shriek of its own, a long plume of steam erupting from the piston. The tractor gave a lurch as the right piston lost pressure, and the tractor fought to keep momentum. They pulled on the road south.

Behind them, Scotch Tape heard Ixion cry out one last time with echoing thunder, and then disappear into the heavens with a colossal boom. The Whiskey Express pockity-whistled its way south, crawling to any safety there was to be found.

“Are you okay?” Pythia shouted through the rain.

“No,” Scotch croaked. “But I’ll live. Are all of you okay?”

“What are you wearing?” Precious asked, arching a brow at Skylord as the chain-bound griffon sat dripping mud all over their supplies. “Did you, like, get into a thing?”

“She did this to me,” he answered, pointing a claw at Scotch.

“Oh. So did you get into a thing?” Precious asked Scotch with a grin.

Hiroto had just died and she was cracking jokes? “Not now,” Scotch muttered. Majina was driving with salty rain on her cheeks as they raced south far slower than she would like. There was no way to patch the hole now. The best they managed was to shove a stick in it to slow the leaking pressure.

The Whiskey Express was dying. Somewhere behind her were Riptide, Haimon, and now Xara. She knew more about her enemy and what they were capable of. They had flying machines. Drones. Riptide would follow her even off the sea, and Haimon followed whatever orders he recieved. The more she understood, the angrier she became. She didn’t know anything about this shaman, or whoever was in charge, but it was more than she had known a few days ago. And she doubted that those three wouldn’t get in trouble for having her in their hooves and letting her get away.

She doubted she’d ever get that lucky twice.

“Why did Ixion attack, though?” Scotch asked aloud.

“No idea. I saw lightning. I didn’t see that thing,” Pythia answered. “Glad I avoided the getting struck by lightning future.”

“Not a surprise. The Zencori barely had any technology at all, and the Blood Legion kept their transmitter and generator inside a bunker. That thing is probably attracted to energy sources,” Charity said, getting a number of stares. “What? I’m not allowed to make observations?”

“We need to get out of this valley,” Scotch muttered, pointing a weary hoof at the southern gap in the mountains. “Get us through there. I’m tired of rain and lightning.”

A few hours later they were through the mountains. They’d gotten the collar off and saved for a day when explosives were needed. Scotch had no doubt Haimon and his allies were after her, but right now she simply felt weary. The south side of the mountains was dry and arid, with pine trees clutching rocky slopes running down towards a great tan expanse.

“Well, that was a bit of a mess, wasn’t it?” Pythia asked with a half smile.

“I knew you’d be there for me,” Scotch answered, getting a flush from the filly. Scotch couldn’t share it though. “I just wanted to save everyone. The Zencori. Skylord. All of you. I thought I could. I thought I was being so clever.”

Pythia’s smile disappeared as she stared at the tan plain ahead of them. “You can’t save everyone, Scotch,” she said soberly.

The scene of Hiroto sinking to the ground played again in Scotch’s mind. That smile on his face as he finally, finally fulfilled his dream of being an embodier. She closed her eyes, listening to the pockety-wheeze.

And then she heard the papery chuckle of the Dealer in her ear. “No, you can’t save everyone,” he said as he slid dry cards against each other, “but it sure is fun to watch you try.”

Author's Notes:

Hah! Take that July! You can ruin my month but I can still get a chapter out! Seriously, between trying to get a job and trying to move to Oregon, I was sure this would be a month with no chapter, but my editors rallied and we were able to finish it in time this month.

Thanks so much to Bronode, Icy Shake, and Heartshine for getting it out. Thanks to Kkat for creating Fallout Equestria. Thanks to my patreons to keeping me from the poorhouse. And much thanks to everyone who’s read and commented on the channel. It really means alot to me.

Next month I’m going to be focusing on getting a job and moving, but hopefully we’ll be getting to see Scotch cross the Great Western Empty and arrive at Roam. With luck, this story won’t turn into Horizons... if I can help it.